


Five Things Kili and Tauriel do well together

by gnimaerd



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnimaerd/pseuds/gnimaerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Tauriel," Legolas speaks in Sindarin, his gaze coldly unamused, "put down the dwarf."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things Kili and Tauriel do well together

**Author's Note:**

> The chorus Kili sings in pt.2 is Dance in the Graveyards by Delta Rae.

  **1. Fight**

It starts by accident, because his leg is still bad and he cannot outrun an orc, but by the Valar he can stick the buggers full of arrows.

They are ambushed on the western road out of Laketown, and Tauriel has snatched him up off his feet before he has quite realised that he is being carried through the melle on the back of a she-elf.

He must steady himself with his legs, as she frees her hands to wield the twin blades she is using to cut their path through the hoard, and when he spots a beast in the trees above their heads he snatches his own bow and one of her arrows (since they are in a quiver quite literally under his nose) and fells the creature before it can get a shot in.

And all of a sudden he is as much Tauriel’s guardian as she is his.

They are a deadly, if somewhat unbalanced, whirl of limbs and steal, Kili and his bow, Tauriel and her knives. Not a thing can touch them – four eyes, four arms, and one set of steady legs is apparently all that is needed to make them the worst foe any orc can fear to face. With the advantage of Tauriel’s height and speed, Kili’s aim is all the deadlier, and Tauriel is abruptly freed from having to worry about anything coming at her back or over her head, so killing what’s in front of her is infinitely easier.

That first battle is far clumsier than the ones that will make them notorious in the months to come, spied as they are by the small folk of middle earth on their adventures between then and the battle of the five armies. Tauriel is not yet used to the weight of him on her back and Kili has not quite perfected his balance and more than once she accidentally throws him off, more than once he catches her in the ear with an arrow tip or she knocks his shin with the butt of a blade. But by the end of it, they are untouched amongst the bodies of a very great number of dead orcs, and Kili is certain that they have discovered the finest method of combat in middle earth.

And their compatriots are staring at the pair of them, as if they have never seen the like (which, to be fair, they probably haven’t).

“That,” Ori is the first to speak, “was bloody brilliant.”

Dori hits him.

“Tauriel,” Legolas speaks in Sandarin, his gaze coldly unamused, “put down the dwarf.”

The tone is perfectly communicative of his sentiment to Kili, as Tauriel kneels, allowing her charge to slide gingerly off her back – he hops on his good leg before she reaches an arm to steady him.

 “He’s an excellent archer,” she tells Legolas, plucking an arrow out of the head of the nearest orc and handing it back to Kili. “Do you not think?”

Legolas narrows his eyes.

That evening, when they have stopped for the night, Tauriel sets herself down next to Kili again.

“We made a good team today.”

“Formidable,” Kili agrees, saluting her with the arrow he is adjusting. “You make an excellent set of legs, captain.”

Tauriel snorts, “and an excellent pair of blades, I hope.”

“That too, aye.” He winks at her, and earns himself the edge of a smile.

“Perhaps it would be best to practice again – we are sure to meet more trouble down the road,” Tauriel murmurs, and Kili all too eagerly agrees.

Watching them, as Tauriel practices manoeuvring the dwarf on her back with one hand whilst grasping a knife in the other, the others cast aspersions and admirations in about equal measure – but there’s no denying that they have stumbled on a truly inspired combination of skills.

“There’s not a thing in this world that could sneak up on either of them now,” Balin remarks, “can you imagine what an entire force of elves and dwarves fighting side by side would look like?”

“No,” Thorin retorts.

Ori splutters through a mouthful of stew, then, looking somewhat abashed, asks Kili if he might write a song about the pair of them. “It’ll make for most unusual subject matter.”

In retrospect Tauriel wishes she had told the young dwarf no – if not for that dratted ballad likely far fewer people in middle earth would know anything about the noble prince Kili and his fair elf bearer and their great gift for killing things between them (at least, only those who fight beside them in the battle of the five armies). But Kili, of course, rather enjoys the notoriety wherever they go.

 

**2.Play**

That dwarves sing has never occurred to Tauriel until, on the road through the misty mountains, she hears Kili strike up the rough edge of a cheerful sounding chorus whilst chipping mud off his boots.

“ _When I die, I don’t want to rest in peace_ ,” Kili intones, “ _I want to dance in the grave yards_ – ”

It’s not an especially old or purposeful song – Tauriel is given to understand that it is a chorus popular amongst younger dwarves, those who have grown up knowing nothing but exile and who have learned to make merry of the gloom of their elders. For this reason Kili’s song earns him a derisive look from Thorin – which Kili greets with a cheerful smile as he limps to his feet.

He is singing, she realises, to set himself a rhythm to walk to. They left Laketown in too much haste to gather horses and Kili’s leg remains a bother, though he resolutely refuses to complain. In order to keep up with them he must move with an odd, lopsided stagger-shuffle which he is struggling to maintain.

By midday he is growing paler, his singing voice little more than a murmur, his pace pulling him gradually to the back of their long train. Tauriel, keeping an eye on him, slows to fall into step beside him and Fili who has, of course, stayed with his brother.

She catches Fili’s worried glance, and quirks a brow at Kili, whose gaze is fix stubbornly on the horizon.

“Tauriel could carry you for a bit, I bet,” Fili suggests, lightly, “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m fine,” Kili replies, trying and failing to sound certain of himself.

He will open the wound if he keeps up like this, Tauriel thinks. Stubborn, prideful males are apparently given to the same idiocy regardless of their race.

“I have no cloak, you know,” she tells Kili, “and I’m cold – will you do me the favour of keeping my back warm?”

Kili gives her a look that says plainly what he thinks of her attempt to sooth his ego. But his face is drawn with pain, and with another hard look from his brother he seems to acquiesce.

She kneels, and lets him clamber onto her back.

He isn’t especially heavy, and they have practiced combat a number of times with him on her back since that first skirmish, so she is used to the feel of his warm, sturdy bulk against her spine. She doesn’t mind, shifting his weight until she’s comfortable, pretending not to notice his grunt of pain when she nudges his leg.

He wraps an arm around her throat, rests his temple against her shoulder and has fallen asleep within a matter of minutes. She can feel him snoring into her neck.

“He’s considered very charming amongst our lady folk,” Fili assures Tauriel, with an apologetic smile. “Can’t think why.”

Tauriel carries Kili a further six miles before he wakens again, snorting a mouthful of her hair in the process.

“You have a lot of hair,” he tells her, unnecessarily, “It can’t be practical.”

“Not everything must be purely utilitarian,” Tauriel retorts, “how is your leg?”

“Numb,” Kili replies, “can you put me down?”

“No. You need to rest.”

He huffs, wiping his nose and sitting up to get a better view of their surroundings. “Have we got no further at all or do all these roads genuinely look this much alike?”

“The latter, I’m afraid.”

“Oh well,” Kili sighs.

He adjusts his position, then begins to hum a cheerful tune – that evening, in a tavern dark and disreputable enough that a party of elves and dwarves goes relatively unnoticed, he takes a mandolin down from the wall and plays it for her, and she knows perfectly well why Kili is considered a charmer amongst his own kind’s lady-folk.

She sings for him, softly, repeating the chorus he began that morning as a lullaby, whilst he plays, and she sees his eyes brighten.

When they all pile into the single room they have been able to afford for their use, it is Ori who doses off on her shoulder to the sound of her voice – she is murmuring _A Elbereth Gilthoniel_ to herself for the gentle twist of homesickness that abruptly snarls in her gut, in the quiet gloom of the night. Kili, propped next to her in a position that already makes clear he will get little sleep, as he rubs his bad leg, tentatively places a hand on her arm and squeezes.

The next morning they sing together as she bears him on her back, setting the pace and ignoring the way Legolas rolls his eyes – or Ori surreptitiously produces quill and parchment and adds another verse to _The Ballad of the Noble Prince and Fair Elfin Lady_.

 

**3\. Hair**

Fili tries not to comment when he walks into the room he has been sharing with Kili and (inevitably) Tauriel, and finds Tauriel cross-legged on the floor, Kili perched on the bed behind her, industriously braiding the captain’s hair. At the little inn Thorin has ordered they stop in until Kili can manage to get about without limping, they are lucky it is he and not one of their older compatriots – or the Mirkwood prince – finding them thus. (Or Ori, who would inevitably start outlining this scene in the dratted ballad he’s composing).

Not that there is anything untoward occurring on the face of things… just. Well.

Kili has a comb tucked between his teeth and is using a hat pin to part thick, rust-coloured locks, his expression drawn into a look of intense concentration, his fingers deft, working the way he would if he were carving a new bow or forging an arrow head. Tauriel has tipped her head back, exposing rather a lot of her neck, and closed her eyes, her hands folded in her lap – she looks meditative. And when Fili clears his throat, there is a moment in which they both look as if they have been caught at something rather less innocent.

“Morning brother!” Kili schools his features into their usual, jovial shape, taking the comb out of his mouth to grin. “Tauriel’s got an awful lot of hair, don’t you reckon?”

“Not half so much as you,” Fili retorts.

He is being reminded, abruptly, of their mother, and of his younger sibling sat at her feet, helping her maintain her beard.

That Kili should grow up with a fascination for lasses with long hair, even beardless ones, seems predictable enough – though Fili warrants their mother would not have countenanced what he is currently observing.

“Nearly finished, anyway,” Kili tucks the comb back into the corner of his mouth, speaking around it, “just – need to – fix this – middle part – ”

“Ow,” Tauriel gives his knee a prod.

“Sorry, my love,” and he spits the words around the comb so they’re almost incomprehensible but not quite, and Fili feels his stomach turn over because by Aule he hopes that that was a slip of the tongue, not an articulation of their actuality – he sees, momentarily, Tauriel’s jaw stiffen – and hastily leaves them to it, for he feels, suddenly, like he is intruding.

He does not come back until some hours later, to find Kili dosing on the bed, and Tauriel picking grass out of his hair.

 

**4\. Preparing for battle**

There are three things that they do, before the battle of the five armies, that become what they do before every skirmish for which they know to be prepared.

Firstly, because he is a dwarf and like all dwarves has at least some basic skill as a smith, Kili examines Tauriel’s blades, and cleans and sharpens them. Secondly, because she has been training archers for near enough 400 years, Tauriel takes Kili’s bow and replaces the string, adjusts his arrows, makes him as many as will fit into his quiver, spending hours until her fingers cramp and her vision blurs, cutting flights and securing their tips.

Then they tend each other’s hair.

Whilst Kili is sewing up a rent in Tauriel’s tunic – he is the better of them with a needle and thread – Tauriel sits behind him and washes and combs out his hair. She’s grown used to doing this, since he hasn’t been able to bathe properly since his injury – the pain seems to worsen when in contact with hot water too long – and at that moment it seems only appropriate, for amongst her kind it is considered a point of honour that no warrior should face death looking at all unkempt. (She will not admit to herself that it is her excuse to linger as near to him as decency allows).

Then he looses and re-braids her hair, too, quiet and gentle and deft as ever. He tucks a daisy into the central braid, as a finishing flourish, and when she reaches back and feels the petals she laughs.

“I’m sure now no orc would dare strike me from behind.”

“They’d fear anything so pretty,” Kili replies, with a wink – though his gaze lingers, and she knows that he’s afraid.

“What is it that dwarves customarily do, before battle?” She asks, and he shrugs.

“Get drunk, mostly. Or – you know – find a pretty lass and… still not that there are any of those round here.”

Tauriel glances at him, uncertainly – then catches the merry glint in his gaze and knows she’s being teased. She rolls her eyes, but it soothes the nerves a little to know at least that even in the bleak mouth of war, Kili is himself, easy and warm and affectionate.

(She knows she loves him, then. Does not articulate it to herself in so many words, but she knows).

Ori, watching them, is once more scribbling.

“That ballad will be longer than the lonely mountain is tall at this rate,” Kili groans, “how much more can there be to add, Ori?”

“You can always edit a first draft!” Ori retorts, “I’m getting all the details first!”

 

**5\. And…**

They should, by all rights, be an absolute mismatch, for lovemaking and such. It isn’t merely the physical differences – culturally, their expectations are far, far different.

But it’s as if something crumbles down between them when they first lay eyes upon each other in the aftermath of the battle of five armies. They have been separated for days – though they fought side-by-side the end of it is as tumultuous as the middle and then they are both swept away by their respective people and they spend near enough a week trying to find one another again (a task not made easier for Tauriel by her having to spend equal amounts of time convincing Thranduil that she is no traitor).

When Kili sees the captain again, it is in the middle of formal negotiations between a recently coronated Fili, Bard and Thranduil for shares of the treasure horde. When she enters, with a message from Legolas for his father, she finds Kili stood by his brother looking entirely like he hasn’t survived the worst battle middle earth has seen in a generation.

She slips out of the tent to escape the tightening in her chest because _thanks be to elbereth he’s alive – stupid, stubborn dwarf_  - until that moment there had been a good deal of confusion as to which of Thorin’s heirs had lived. She’s scrambling through guy ropes and discarded horse tack trying to find a clear space, thinking that she’d very much like a drink, when she clatters into the dwarf in question after he has clearly had the same idea.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he tells her, with a quick, tremulous smile – and it’s all she can do not to smack him in the head. “I could comb it for you if you want.”

She doesn’t hit him. She falls to her knees and bursts into tears, which is the single most horrifyingly embarrassing thing she has ever done in public – but there has been so much death and so much fear that she absolutely cannot take him being alive and unharmed and trying to be funny about her hair.

“Oh, by Aule, don’t do that,” Kili groans, “I’ve no handkerchief – ”

“Shut up!”

“Okay,” he agrees, patting her, awkwardly.

She glances around to see that they are relatively unobserved, and then turns her face up to him. “Kiss me,” she says, “quickly.”

He does, soft and tender as morning dew, though his beard prickles against her chin.

Then she gets up, and leads him back to her tent.

Amongst elves, lovemaking is its own particular kind of poetry. It is a careful, considered thing, a sacred part of the marriage ritual, which is in itself the end point of an incredibly complex courting process. Most elves hold that the act forges a bond that will fatally shatter the heart of the one who remains if the other is parted from them – and as such it is never, ever gone about lightly – and must be given its due time and space. A courting couple still growing to know one another will likely take themselves away from their communities to find privacy and spend several days in the first throws of intercourse.

This is, luckily for Kili, not something Tauriel has ever especially desired for herself. Not least because she knows (having explored the subject matter quite thoroughly herself) that what is physical between a couple is not necessarily the final soldering of an eternal bond – far more the expression of it, if the love being expressed is true. If there is no love, than the physical may be enjoyed without a great deal of concern for the heart, although she has always preferred to explore potential with those for whom she shares at least some mutual respect.

Still what exploration she has had has still been distinctly _elvish_. Always a considered thing, always lengthy.

Amongst dwarves… well, that the process is less formal is something of an understatement.

Tauriel is not at all prepared for how quickly Kili considers the business to be over with.

“That cannot be all – ”

“Give a fellow a chance, will you?” Kili yawns, “I’m exhausted.”

She groans, her brow knitting, her body aching for him as he catches his breath – and he catches her expression and laughs.

“I’m sorry. Have I got you all worked up and abandoned you?”

“Lazy halfling imp,” she grimaces, and he pulls her against him with one sturdy arm and kisses her.

He is good and solid and warm and delightful and he makes Tauriel laugh as she has never laughed with a lover before – but if he cannot find the wherewithal to satisfy her soon she will simply have to complete the job herself.

As he buries his face in her neck, however, she feels him slip one careful, calloused hand between her legs. She shivers, violently, and feels a gasp of laughter in his chest and would clip him soundly about the ear for his cheek accept that she doesn’t want to distract him (he is, as she might have predicted, over-fond of breaking off to make jokes in the middle of things).

Tauriel is reduced to stuttering Sindarin curses as he eases down her body, the better to reach, and when she feels his mouth catch at exactly where she wants it she sinks a hand into his curls, trying to steady herself, to slow things.

The rush and press between them is hot in her own blood – this is not the steady tide of love between elves, but a racing pulse, the fluttering, elated high of life, of their survival where too many have perished. They are perfect, whatever their mismatches – perfect and pure and strong. With the same hands with which he may cleave an orc’s head from its shoulders, he may plant a daisy in her hair, or touch where she is slick and open, wondering and gentle. Whether born aloft on her shoulders or pressing his mouth between her thighs – Kili is her beloved, and they are strong, together; they are good.

“S’good job Ori’s not here to see us,” Kili remarks, kissing her thigh and then her naval, lazily tracing her freckles with his mouth. “Don’t think he could fit this into his bloody ballad.”

“We could write our own ballads,” Tauriel sighs, shifting beneath him.

“Oh I could write enough poetry about you to fill the halls of Erebor,” he grins up at her a moment, “I could write songs the like of which neither of our peoples have ever heard before.”

She takes his hand, pulling him back up to kiss him soundly.  

 

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Five Things Kíli and Tauriel Do Well Together [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903922) by [the_dragongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dragongirl/pseuds/the_dragongirl)




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